Seven Deadly Sinners
by Jekkal
Summary: A series of Short Stories. Each chapter focuses on a different character and the hells they've made for themselves. Because when it comes to sin, even Ratchet isn't immune . . .
1. Wrathful Ratchet

_Jekkal's Notes:_

The following Short Stories don't necessarily go together. I'm not sure yet if I want to stick to strictly canon R&C characters, or to toss in a few of my own in order to hit all seven. In the meantime, there's plenty of deviance to go around.

_If the summary didn't tip you off, each chapter focuses on a different character, a different sin, a different prison and a different game; each one has to find their way out or die trying, even as the worst aspects of their character hold them back. Will they survive, or will they decide they prefer their new prisons over their lives? _

_After all, they say nobody's safe from temptation . . ._

* * *

Ratchet looked at the great stone room before him, containing an almost endless spiral of criminals chained to the walls and floors.

He hated them all. Each one had a sign around their necks detailing their crimes, all worse than the last. He'd started with terrorists, petty thieves, bank robbers and spies . . . he ran up ahead to notice murderers of passion, traitors, child molesters . . . rapists of all degrees were interspersed among them, and among the worst were the ones who swore they did nothing wrong, at least not in the names of their Gods.

Somehow he'd been left orders to kill each one of them. In order, through the line, until the very last one was left, and then he'd have to gut the worst one's stomach and rip out the key to leave. He couldn't just skip to him, though, if only because killing them out of order would free enough of the ones he'd 'spared' that he'd find himself flayed and violated in every available orifice the Lombax had — including his ears, to be perfectly honest — like something out of those human porn films.

So he had to kill them all. It was a minor obstacle. They all deserved death; that was obvious. It was not obvious enough, however, to keep him from wondering —who could possibly be at the center of this maelstrom of maliciousness, though?

No matter. He had a task to complete. He had to make it as swift as he could, because they were always screaming and begging him to stop . . . but he knew he'd have to get through every last one of them in order to get out of here. He'd have to put up with the cries of anguish and despair, the professed innocence, the 'rebirthing' of those who tried to hide behind Gods . . . He wouldn't care, and he didn't have the time to care.

The sad thing was, he didn't know if he did it because he wanted out . . . or just because he wanted.


	2. Proud Qwark

Captain Qwark should have been happy here! He had all the fans he ever wanted, he had money, glory, doting attention — he just couldn't get enough!

So then why was he staring up at the ceiling, looking up in the rafters at someone else?

The young blue-skinned woman was sitting on one of the rafters, a noose around her neck. Qwark knew she had the key code he needed to leave this place, and if she killed herself now, he'd be stuck here forever — like he'd ever want to leave the way it was now. Only thing was, once she was dead, the others might start asking why Qwark didn't save her . . . they'd turn on him, jump him, rip him apart!

"Get down from there! You have so much to live for!" Qwark called up there, making his way towards a ladder propped against the wall — it wasn't tall enough to reach her, but he'd be able to hit a series of swingshot targets that would do just fine.

"Fuck you!" The woman hissed. "You're just a selfish schmuck! You don't care about me, you care about your new brownnosers thinking you're a hero! You're nothing!"

"Don't make me come up there and give you a spanking, young lady!" Qwark admonished her as he climbed the ladder. "Justice _always _finds a way!"

She glared at him, cinching the noose just a little tighter around her neck. "This ain't justice."

Qwark's eyes narrowed as he tried to get up there, to get closer to her. He couldn't give up on her; he couldn't let these people see him falter and fail! "Come on, girl, if nothing else, why don't you let the Qwarkster take you for a ride? I'm sure once you've had some fun you'll change your tune . . ."

The girl glared at him, before standing up, hatred in her eyes even as she let what looked suspiciously like a suicide note flutter to the floor. "Just as arrogant as ever. You want to fuck me that badly? Hope you're into necrophilia, you pompous prick!"


	3. Lusty Angela

"Oh God . . . Ohh, _God _. . ."

Suspended in a curiously prone position in the room was Angela Cross, who sounded like she was having the time of her life. With only a five-sizes-too-short schoolgirl outfit keeping her decent — if you made sure to keep your eyes at the right angle — she hanged from the ceiling, her hands and arms were held tight above her with suspension cuffs, holding her wide open and vulnerable to a heavy, heady draft in the room, among other things.

Near her spread legs was a beast, the likes of which she'd only heard about in the horror section of Supervillain Weekly. Its iridescent, gel-like skin shifted in color as it touched her, its form gently conforming to hers as the best laid its many, many hands on her body, looking at her with a face that had no mouth, and eyes of star-swallowing black pearl. She knew what it was, as much of a beast-master as she needed to be for her job — it was a Chancerite, supposed masters of desire and manipulation, with a vampiric flaw that made them useful only as short-term interrogative creatures.

Somewhere within its gelatinous, amorphous form was the key-card necessary to unlock her restraints, and all she had to do to escape was convince it to use the key to unlock her. But of course, the problem was that the Chancerite had already gotten a bead on what it thought Angela really wanted, and was more than intent on giving her the pleasure she was all ready for, at the risk of drinking her nano dry. It'd kill her if she stayed here, but she figured it wouldn't kill her to at least 'pretend' she was stuck so far.

Truth be told, she had wanted something like this for too DAMN long, anyway . . .

"Well aren't you a curious little subject . . ." Angela spoke, even as she was pushed backwards by the eager monster. "Go over there and use the little card. Come on, I'm starting to get sleepy."

The monster blinked, its eyes filled with a curious misunderstanding, before it bent over her, latching to nestle its muzzle on her neck, just under her chin as it ignored her cries for help.

"No, no . . listen, go over there, please, don't . . . Oh damn . . . Not the time, boy, not the time . . ." She hissed, trying to keep her head above her hips. "Stop this, I need you to . . . I need . . . " She tried again, before succumbing to her baser desires once again. "I need _you_ . . ."


End file.
